Bridges Mended
by Oxymoronic Alliteration
Summary: The team is brought out to the USS Stennis to investigate. For Tim, this means facing something far worse than seasickness: his father. Written for the NFA Community White Elephant Exchange.
1. Chapter 1

It was a chilly morning as Admiral Patrick McGee stood on the bridge of the USS John C. Stennis, looking out over the water. The sun was just beginning to peek above the horizon, flanked by tints of pink and orange. The winds bounced off the waves, splashing them against the ship. He could smell the salt of the sea and heartily breathed it in.

"Admiral," a voice called. He turned to see Captain Merle Glenn approaching. Like him, Glenn was in his mid-fifties and was showing signs of salt-and-pepper along his hairline. Their faces were etched with small wrinkles and lines.

"Captain," he replied. "Quite a nice morning, don't you agree?"

"I can't say any morning is a nice morning when you're afloat," Glenn said. "The seas never seem to calm. Still, I can't say I'd rather be anywhere else."

"Was there something you wanted to speak with me about, Captain?" Patrick asked, wanted to get right to the point.

"Petty Officer Collins, sir."

Patrick sighed. "Yes, what about him?"

"I know you're not fond of him but I do believe him to be a good, is misguided, man. He's harmless."

"Harmless as a civilian, perhaps. Not so harmless in the Navy. Don't misunderstand; I don't think the boy is evil, but discipline is necessary and I won't accept anything less. All we need is one thing to go wrong and people can get hurt.

"He's young, Admiral."

"So he is. But so are hundreds of others who have served under me and I've never had trouble with them. If he expects to have any career in the Navy he'll need to grow up and do so quickly. I could have killed him for that stunt he pulled and I may have done just that if you hadn't intervened. As I said then, it's your ship and I'll leave him to you, but I cannot allow him to continue these antics."

"I understand, Admiral."

Patrick gave a curt nod and turned back to his view. "You know," he said, changing the subject, "it's these times at sea that I appreciate my time with Margaret."

"How is your wife?"

"Fine, if her last letter is any indication." But Patrick's mind wasn't on that letter. It was on the phone call he had received a week before the carrier had been sent off.

"Is there something on your mind, Admiral?"

"Just thinking…about my son."

"Your son?" Patrick hadn't mentioned a son to him. That wasn't all too surprising, though; Patrick wasn't one to make small talk very often. He was a quiet man who stuck to the important facts and didn't muddle his job with personal information.

"Yes," he said, "my son, Timothy. We spoke not before we set sail."

"Is he a Navy man as well?"

"Not quite." Patrick's tone indicated that he didn't wish to discuss the matter further. "If you'll excuse me, Captain."

Glenn stepped aside, allowing Patrick to pass, giving a small nod as he did. "Just a reminder, Admiral, that Agent Forbes wants to speak with you after breakfast. Says he has to talk about that scuffle between Chief Officers Palmero and Juarez. He said he'll come around your quarters."

"Thank you, Captain. I'll head there now."

Patrick walked through the ship corridors toward his quarters, his mind still on his conversation with Tim. He couldn't remember exactly when their relationship had begun to sour, but he remembered clearly the day they had each drawn their respective line in the sand, causing the seven years of silence between one another. It hadn't been his proudest moment as a father and he had known even then that he could have repaired it. His pride had gotten in the way, was all. Now he didn't know if they would ever recapture what they had once had.

The climb to the top can be a lonely one, especially in the Navy. It requires much sacrifice from both you and your loved ones. Patrick had known for years that he would be a Navy Admiral, just like his father and his father's father. Perhaps he had given up too much in the process, though. Perhaps he had focused so much on his career in the Navy that he lost sight of his career as a father and husband. Despite wanting those serving under him to believe otherwise, he didn't always have the right answers to every question.

He was lost in these thoughts when he heard a gurgled groan nearby, followed by a hard thud. Quickening his pace, he rounded the corner and came to a halt. Before him was the body of a sailor, lying face-down with one arm outstretched, as though grabbing for one more breath of life. A knife stuck out of his back and both the knife and the body were surrounded by blood.

Patrick tentatively approached the body, for it was one that he recognized. "Petty Officer Collins?" he said. There was no response. "Petty Officer Collins, stop this foolishness and get up!" Again, he received no response. Feeling anger bubbling up, Patrick knelt beside the body and grabbed the shoulder, flipping the man over onto his back. He expected to be greeted with a laugh or some indication that this had been a joke. Instead, he was met with a more appalling sight: a pale white face wretched into a look of horror, with unblinking eyes looking upward. He realized that the blood on his hands wasn't imitation; it was the real thing.

As Patrick knelt there in shock Captain Glenn rounded the corner, also coming to a halt at the sight.

"Call for Agent Forbes," Patrick said in a low voice. "He's dead."


	2. Chapter 2

A sense of dread washed over Tim the minute he stepped off the elevator. For one thing it was a Monday; Mondays were never good. For another thing, his horoscope had warned him that he would face hardships today. As if those two weren't enough to have him on edge, he spotted Vance and Gibbs speaking at the top of the overlook and he saw the stony expressions on their faces. They definitely did not look happy, especially when they turned to face him.

"McGee," Gibbs said when he noticed Tim, "Vance's office. Now." Neither of them waited for a response before heading into the office.

"Oooh, McGee's in trouble," Tony said gleefully when Tim passed by.

"Don't be a child," Tim mumbled as he dropped his things off at his desk. Being called into the Director's office was like being called into the principal's office; you never knew what to expect.

Ziva was far more optimistic, at least in her words "I am sure it is fine, McGee." Still, he caught a glimpse of concern in her eyes as he walked past.

If he had to guess he'd surmise this had something to do with his hacking the CIA on that last case. He usually avoided that when he could, not out of any sense of moral or ethical obligation, but because CIA was one of the more difficult things to hack. But when Gibbs was breathing down your neck for results you rarely had much choice. Not that he was going to throw Gibbs under the bus for this; he had done it on his own and hadn't even told Gibbs about it.

Pamela gave him a smile when he entered. "Director Vance and Agent Gibbs are ready for you."

He managed a weak smile in return before going in. Gibbs and Vance were already seated at the conference table.

"Agent McGee," Vance said with a gesture, "please have a seat."

Tim did as was instructed. Figuring it was best to ask for forgiveness outright, Tim immediately said, "Director Vance, I just want to apologize."

"Apologize?"

"For hacking the CIA on that last case. I know it's not authorized and I should have spoken to Gibbs first, or you, but—"

Vance raised a hand, quieting any explanations Tim had planned. "Agent McGee, you're not here because of any hacking you've done."

"Oh," Tim said, appropriately embarrassed. "Then why am I in trouble?"

"Who said you're in trouble, McGee?" Gibbs asked.

"Well, I naturally assumed, I guess."

"You're not in trouble," Vance assured him. "We've asked you up here to discuss a new case to which you have a connection."

Vance stood and grabbed the remote control for his television, clicking it on. There appeared on the screen an aircraft carrier. "At approximately 0600 this morning we received a call from the USS John C. Stennis."

Tim's breath caught in his throat. He knew his father was stationed on the Stennis at the moment and a feeling of anxiety washed over him. "My father…?" he began, not sure how to ask the question. Surely his mother and Sarah couldn't know yet or one of them would have called him. Would he have to be the bearer of bad news?

"Admiral McGee is perfectly healthy," Vance said.

"Then why are you speaking to me about this?"

"There's been a murder," Gibbs said. "We've been asked to investigate, but I need to know that you can handle investigating this with your father there."

"Well, sure. I mean, it's not like we're investigating him." There was an uncomfortable silence in response to this. Tim looked to Gibbs, furrowing his brow. "Boss?"

"We don't know what we're dealing with here, McGee, but we'll need to examine all possible angles. That means everyone is under scrutiny."

"I can tell you my dad wouldn't kill anyone…"

"Agent McGee," Vance cut in, "if you are unable to be objective about this I assume Gibbs can handle it with only David and DiNozzo."

Tim sighed. "No, sir; I'll be fine. I'll investigate everything and look at all evidence with an objective eye…even if it incriminates my dad."

"Good," Gibbs said. "Be packed and ready to go in one hour. We'll be meeting their Agent Afloat there. He's already started a file."

"Yes, boss."

The three of them stood. "Gibbs, you go tell David and DiNozzo about the case. I'd like to speak with Agent McGee for a moment."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow, but didn't ask questions. "Don't keep him too long, Leon. We've got COD to catch and I'm sure McGee will want to stock-up on Dramamine."

Tim gave a small wince, already imagining the somersaults his stomach would be doing. Fortunately he kept a couple bottles of the medicine in his desk drawer. That would get him through the first hour at least. With luck and a prayer they'd be finished by then.

With Gibbs gone, Vance leaned against the conference table, arms crossed, leaving Tim to stand uncomfortably. "I understand that your relationship with your father is civil at best."

"How do you know that, sir?"

"I have my ways, Agent McGee."

"We've had out rough patches," he admitted, not sure how much information to offer. "When we last spoke our relationship was…well…better, I guess."

"After the case involving your grandmother?

"Yes, Director. We hadn't spoken in a while before then so it was a start for us."

In all honesty the phone call had been awkward for both of them. Tim had tried to get a conversation going, but his father had drawn back, reducing his part of the exchange to one or two-word answers He was obviously surprised that his estranged son had called him out of the blue, but hadn't made much of an effort to reciprocate. Still, it may have opened the door to making amends and his father had ended with call by telling Tim – albeit, in a half-hearted tone – that he would be at sea for some time, but that he hoped to see him at their next family gathering. No "I love you" added on, but, as Penny had said, his father just didn't know how to say it yet.

"If seeing him again will be uncomfortable for you…"

"It won't be," Tim said quickly. "I can assure you, it won't. I think the worse thing that will come from this is the seasickness." He added a half-hearted smile.

"Good," Vance said. "Then I suggest you go get ready. I'm sure Gibbs won't think twice about leaving you behind if you're not ready."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

"McGee, what's going on?" Tony asked as Tim descended the stairs. "Gibbs told us to be ready for a flight in an hour."

"There was a murder aboard the John C. Stennis," Ziva added.

"I know," Tim said. "That's where my dad is stationed."

Tony and Ziva exchanged glances. It was no secret that Tim and Admiral McGee didn't have the closest relationship with his father. Father problems seemed to be something they all had in common. "He is not hurt, is he?" asked Ziva.

"No, he's fine." Tim looked up to check that the bullpen was empty before lowering his voice and adding, "But from the way Gibbs talked about it they may already think he's a suspect."

"Gibbs thinks everyone is a suspect until proven otherwise."

"I know, Tony, but this seemed different. I have a feeling he's heard some scuttlebutt that doesn't shine the best light on my dad."

"You do not believe your father would be capable of killing a man, though," Ziva said.

"Capable, sure. But I don't think he did." He opened his mouth to say more, but he saw Gibbs bounding toward them and thought better of it. If Gibbs overheard his concerns he'd be off the case in a snap.

"Ducky and Palmer will be coming along to escort the body back, along with any items for Abby," Gibbs informed them. "Otherwise it'll just be us."

"How long will we be there?" Ziva asked.

"Until we've got our murderer."

"A Navy carrier filled with sailors?" Tony snorted. "That'll take forever."

"No one ever said this job was easy, DiNozzo."

* * *

Scarcely an hour later the six of them were squeezed inside the Carrier Onboard Delivery, making their way out to the Stennis' current location. The ride was bumpy, but that was nothing new for any of them, except maybe for Jimmy. "Think I could snag some of that Dramamine, McGee?" he groaned as the plane shook. It was his first time aboard a COD and his stomach wasn't accustomed to the turbulence.

"Buck up, Mr. Palmer," Duck said, giving his assistant a pat on the back. "Once we land your stomach will settle."

"I'm not so certain," Jimmy replied feebly.

"Hey, Palmer, no vomiting on my shoes," Tony said. "If you feel the urge to hurl turn the other way."

Up front the pilot announced their arrival to the crew, allowing them to get ready for landing. Tim took in a deep breath as they descended, hitting the deck with great force. Beside him Jimmy hunched forward, dropping his head between his legs as he breathed. "Never again," he muttered, placing a hand atop his stomach.

Tony and Gibbs helped a shaky Jimmy off the aircraft, his legs still like jelly from the harrowing flight. Ducky followed and then Ziva, leaving Tim to bring up the rear. The deck crew had already come forward to tend to the aircraft, but two highly-decorated men stood on the deck as well, both with stony expressions. Next to them stood a younger man who donned an NCIS cap and jacket.

"Agent Gibbs, I assume," said the man in the NCIS garb. "I'm Agent Ted Forbes, Agent Afloat for the USS John C. Stennis."

One of the other men stepped forward with an outstretched hand. "We appreciate you getting here so quickly. As you can imagine this has been quite disruptive."

"I'm sure your dead Petty Officer is sorry for the problems his murder may have caused," Gibbs said.

The man was visibly taken aback by the comment. "Well, of course. I wasn't implying that I blamed him for any of this."

The other man, sensing the tension, stepped forward to also shake Gibbs' hand. "I'm Captain Glenn, Agent Gibbs. And this is—"

"Admiral McGee," Gibbs concluded. He looked the Admiral over, taking in just how much the father resembled his son. He was more muscular than his son and his age had begun to show in his face, but there was no doubt that this man was Tim's father. They even had the same eyes. Only, where Tim's green eyes were expressive, his father's seemed a bit dimmer and more controlled. Gibbs had a feeling Patrick McGee had a good poker face.

"Yes," Glenn said. "We have beds available for your men…and women," he added catching sight of Ziva. "I'm afraid things are a bit cramped at the moment, though."

"Well, you'll have two fewer guests to worry about," Ducky said. "My assistant and I will be traveling back with the body." Jimmy gave a half-hearted wave as he lowered himself to a sitting position.

Agent Forbes nodded. "The body is still where it was this morning when Admiral McGee…well, when it was discovered. This way." Ducky followed behind Forbes with Jimmy in tow, and the other soon followed. When Tim passed his father he stopped for a moment.

"Hi, dad."

"Son," Patrick replied with a nod.

"Um…good to see you."

"Mm-hm."

Tim stood there awkwardly for another few seconds. "So, have you heard from mom about Sarah's—?"

"McGee!" Gibbs was calling him. "Let's go."

"Perhaps you'd better go with your team," Patrick suggested.

"Okay…I guess we can talk later?" He received no response.

Tim's stomach was beginning to churn, but this time it had nothing to do with the roaring sea.


	3. Chapter 3

"Has the body been disturbed since it was discovered?" Ducky asked as Agent Forbes led them through the corridor. It was eerily quite considering the time of day.

"Not that I know, doctor. I sectioned off the area and had Captain Glenn instruct everyone not to come near it until you arrived."

"Said he didn't want anyone to possibly compromise the crime scene," Glenn added.

Petty Officer Collins was still lying face up when they came upon him, but now there were two men stationed on either side of him. The one facing them stepped to the side as the Captain approached. "You may both return to your regular duties," Glenn told them. The men gave a salute to the Captain before heading off

"Well, I'm no M.E.," Tony said as he looked down at the body, "but if I had to guess, I'd say this guy died from that knife sticking out of his back."

"Yes, pretty obvious," Glenn said with a wry smile, "but I felt I should leave the final prognosis up to the experts."

"Most wise," Ducky said as he knelt down. "Clues on the surface can often times be misleading. I remember a case where the poor fellow had been hit by a train. Upon further investigation I found that he had taken a bullet to the brain long before the locomotive hit him. Someone had been trying to make it look like an accident."

"This was no accident, Duck," Gibbs said. "If it was suicide I'd love to know how the Petty Officer managed to stab himself in the back."

He turned to Glenn. "We'll need to speak with both you and Admiral McGee, along with all other men and women stationed on this ship. Do you have somewhere we could set up for that?"

"We can put you in the Wardroom," Forbes said.

"Anything else I can do?" Glenn asked

"Not at the moment. When Dr. Mallard and Palmer are ready to depart I'll let you know."

Glenn nodded before walking off to set up for the interviews.

"Unless you need something from me at the moment, Agent Gibbs, I'll go assist the Captain," Forbes said. "I can give you my initial statement and report after that."

Gibbs nodded, giving Forbes a silent wave to go. Then he turned back to his team. "Anything stand out, Duck?"

"The Petty Officer and I have only just met, Jethro. You'll need to give me a bit more time than that."

He looked to Tim and Ziva. "You two look around the scene. Sketch, pictures, bag and tag. Check within one hundred feet both ways of where the body fell. DiNozzo, you're with me."

Tony pulled the camera off from around his neck and handed it over to Tim with a smirk. "Don't get too sick, McUpchuck."

Before Tim could respond, the ship rumbled suddenly and seesawed beneath his feet, as if taunting him. Tim groaned and brought a hand to his stomach. This was only the start.

Gibbs turned a scrutinizing eye to him. "McGee, can you handle this?"

Though his stomach was sour, Tim nodded. "I'll be fine, boss. Just need to get my sea legs."

"It's been eight years, Probie," Tony said. "If you haven't gotten them by now I'd give up hope."

Tim mumbled something incoherent, but straightened up nonetheless. He wasn't about to throw up on this ship. Not only would he embarrass himself, but he'd embarrass his father…which would be even _more_ embarrassing for him.

He began snapping pictures of the area while wondering why fate had decided to throw him into this. Not only was he once again forced upon a bucking ship, but he had been forced face-to-face with his father, a man he hadn't seen in seven years and who, when Tim had reached out, seemed reluctant toward any reconciliation. He couldn't figure out which was worse.

"There's blood splatter over here," Ziva said from just around the corner. When Tim joined her she was pointing to the ground where there was trail of red starting with one large splatter and leading toward the body on the other side. Small specks of blood were also along the bottom walls. "He was likely stabbed here and stumbled to where he eventually died."

"Could have been dragged," Tim suggested as he snapped a picture.

"Possible, but not likely. There's little smudging of the blood. It looks more like it trailed down from the wound and dripped on the floor as he walked. Besides, what would be the point of dragging a body only twenty feet from where you stabbed him?"

"Maybe the killer was planning to move him further but heard someone coming?"

"Like your father?" Ziva saw Tim tense and immediately regretted her words. "I am sorry, McGee, I did not mean-"

"It's okay Ziva. I just don't like that my dad could have been caught by whoever did this. They probably wouldn't have wanted to leave behind any witnesses." Even if they were estranged, Tim didn't like the idea of his dad almost being killed.

"Yes, well, whoever 'they' are, they're still on this ship."

"Not a comforting thought."

The ship made another rumble. This time Tim reached out to the wall to steady himself. His other hand went to his stomach. "I think I'm going to puke."

"Why don't you take some Dramamine?"

"I'm out. Palmer used up the rest of it on the flight over."

"You know, there is no shame in wanting to sit this one out. Given the circumstances-"

"I am _not_ sitting anything out. It's my job to get over my problems to catch the killer. Besides," he added bitterly, "I don't want to make my dad a laughing stock."

"He will not be a laughing stock."

"How many Navy Admirals have sons who get seasick just from sitting in an inner tube?"

"More than you think, I'm sure. No one is invincible. We all have our Achilles Foot."

"Heel."

"There is no need for name calling, McGee."

"No, I mean the term is 'Achilles Heel.' And anyway, if my dad has one he's never shown it."

"Showing something and having something are two different things. Sometimes those who seem the strongest are hiding the biggest weaknesses."

Tim couldn't even begin to contemplate a response before the ship lurched once more. This time he slapped a hand to his mouth and scanned for the best place to go. There was a door a few feet up and too the right. He pulled it open – relieved to see it was some sort of supply closet – and grabbed the closest bucket he could and heaved into it.

"We should get you to sick bay," Ziva said. "No point in possibly getting the crime scene messy."

"This isn't right," he muttered once the sickness had subsided.

"Murder rarely is."

"No, that's not what I meant." He stood and stepped to the side. Ziva peered in and saw what he meant. There was a small pool of vomit on the floor of the closet, some of it mixed with what looked to be blood. There was sawdust on top of it, but no other indication that someone had tried to clean it up.

"That's not mine."

Ziva sighed. "Why are we the ones who always end up with the vomit?"

"I thought it smelled weird," Tim said, "but I figured it was just my imagination. Why wouldn't someone try to clean this up?"

"There's blood in it. Do you think it is related to the murder?" Ziva asked as she snapped a picture.

"Well, there is only one way to find out," said a voice from behind them. They turned to find Ducky there. "Mr. Palmer and I are finished with the body. We'll take back anything Abigail will need, which I assume includes…_that_."

"I'll scoop up a sample," Tim said.

"Yes, and then I suggest you see the medic on board. The forecast calls for rough seas and I'm sure you'll be more comfortable with some medicine in you."

After Tim had collected a nice-size sample, he handed it over to Ducky to put with the other bits of evidence that would return back to Abby. His stomach was settling from the sea sickness, but there was still an uncomfortable twist in his gut.

"Look on the bright side," Ziva said, giving Tim a pat on the back.

"What's the bright side?"

She gestured to the mess in the supply closet. "At least you're not the only one here who hasn't got your sea legs."

* * *

Gibbs and Tony had decided to begin the interviews with Captain Glenn and Admiral McGee. They had, after all, been the first two to reach the body. Besides, they knew both men had other duties to which they needed to attend.

The four of them were set up in the Wardroom with Gibbs and Tony on one side of the table and the Captain and Admiral on the other side. The latter man still held the same stone-faced expression, even under Gibbs' gaze.

Glenn cleared his throat before Tony and Gibbs spoke. "I just want you to know that you'll have my complete cooperation on this, Agent Gibbs, as well as Admiral McGee's."

"That's good to know, Captain. I hope your sailors are as obliging."

"They will be; I'll see to it."

"Can you tell us about what happened when you found the body?"

"I found him," Patrick said. "I had been up on the bridge with Captain Glenn and had decided to head down for a meeting with Agent Forbes. That's when I came upon the body."

"And you showed up when, Captain?" Tony asked.

"I was walking through when I heard Admiral speaking to Petty Officer Collins. He sounded angry and I thought I should intervene. That's when I saw that Collins was dead."

Tony arched an eyebrow. "So you saw him alive, Admiral?"

"No, Agent DiNozzo."

"Then why were you speaking to him?"

"When I came upon him he was lying face down. I was chewing him out and I flipped him over onto his back. I didn't realize he was dead. I thought it was another joke of his."

"Did he joke often?" Gibbs asked.

"More than I liked." Patrick leaned forward, placing his hands on the table and clasping his fingers together. "You may as well know now that Petty Officer Collins had, well, pissed me off more than once during his time here."

"Pissed you off how?"

"He was a joker with an immature streak and he didn't know when to stop. It began with low-key pranks. Someone would find a rubber spider in their bed or the tops on the salt and pepper shakers would fall off. I didn't like it, but I also didn't think it necessary to reprimand him. I even let it go when he put Saran wrap on some of the toilets. Then they began to escalate."

"In what way?"

"His pranks started to interfere with our jobs. The most recent example was just three days ago. He stumbled into the mess hall with blood coming out of his mouth and what looked like a bullet wound in the chest of his shirt. We rushed toward him and began trying to save him."

"But he didn't need saving?" Gibbs guessed.

"It didn't take long to figure out that it was fake blood and that there had been no bullet wound. By then he was laughing up a storm at how we had fallen for it. A few of his friends were amused by his antics, but I wasn't. I had half a mind to haul him overboard for that stunt. He had been a disruption and a distraction, something we don't need. I hauled him up by his collar and dragged him out of there, though."

"I assume he was appropriately punished."

"He was put on head duty for five months," Glenn said. "He was responsible for scrubbing down every head on the ship first thing in the morning and last thing at night."

"I don't put up with that kind of behavior aboard a ship," Patrick said, "or in the Navy, period. I can take a good joke and don't mind an occasional prank, but not here and not of that caliber. We needed to make an example out of him, lest some of his peers think his actions are in any way condoned."

"Did he have any other enemies?"

Patrick visibly bristled. "I wouldn't call myself an 'enemy,' Agent Gibbs."

"Did anyone else have problems with him?" Tony jumped in. Two headstrong military men didn't always make for a pleasant combination.

"There were no complaints," Glenn said, "but I'm not sure that means others didn't have problems with him. If they did, they probably took care if it themselves."

Tony looked up. "Like by killing him?"

"I suppose," Glenn said with a sigh.

Gibbs nodded. "We'll need you to send your sailors in one-by-one."

"That's fine, Agent Gibbs."

Taking it as their sign to leave, Patrick and Glenn stood with Patrick exiting the room first. Glenn lingered behind almost hesitantly. "Agent Gibbs, I hope you haven't gotten the wrong impression about Admiral McGee. He just wants the best for this ship and gets angry when someone doesn't rise to his standards. He has to have been hard in life to have risen up the ranks. But the Admiral wouldn't kill anyone in cold blood, not even Collins."

"Your vote of confidence is nice, Captain, but we deal in facts, not opinions," Gibbs said.

Once Glenn had left, Tony turned to Gibbs. "Do you think Admiral McGee would have been able to pull off the killing in the time between leaving the bridge and being found by Capt. Glenn?"

"It doesn't take that long to stab someone," Gibbs said. "And according to Agent Forbes he had blood on his hands when they found him."

"Well, he did admit to turning the body over. It's not unlikely that the blood got on his hands that way."

"It's also a good way to cover up the presence of blood."

"Do you think that's what happened, boss?"

Before Gibbs could answer there was another lurch as the boat swayed back and forth. "I think," Gibbs said once the ship had settled, "that we should figure it out soon for McGee's sake."

Gibbs didn't state whether was referring to Tim's stomach or his father's connection to the case, but it seemed likely that he had both of those on his mind.


	4. Chapter 4

"I hate sick bays on ships."

"How many have you been in?"

"This is my first."

"Then how do you know you hate them?"

"I just do. They're like hospitals, but worse: they're on water."

Tim was lying on his back, waiting to be examined, while Ziva sat nearby. They had finished their tasks and sent the proper evidence either back with Ducky and Jimmy or to Agent Forbes to keep for their own use. Gibbs and Tony were still talking to members of the ship and, seeing as the forecast was calling for rough seas ahead, Ziva thought it best to have Tim checked over by the on-board medic before his motion sickness began to affect his work.

"Stop whining, McGee. Once the doctor arrives and gives you something, I'm sure you'll feel better."

He snorted. "Yeah, can't wait for that. I just hope he actually knows what he's doing."

"I'm sure I do, Agent McGee."

Standing in the doorway of the sick bay was a rather petit woman who looked to be in her early thirties. Her red hair was pulled back into a tight bun and the insignia on her uniform identified her as a Lieutenant. If she was offended by Tim's comment, her smile didn't let on.

Tim, to his credit, looked appropriately sheepish at being caught. "Sorry, I didn't mean anything by that."

"He's been cranky," Ziva said in an audible whisper, as though sharing a secret. "You may need to give him a lollipop."

"If he's a good boy," the Lieutenant said, giving Tim a subtle wink. His face grew red as the two women enjoyed a good-natured laugh at his expense.

"So what seems to be the problem, Agent McGee?" she asked once the laughter had subsided.

"Nausea and puking," he muttered. Realizing he had just said "puking" in front of a very attractive woman, Tim winced, quickly adding, "I get seasick, Lieutenant…?"

"Jane Doyle," she replied, holding out a hand for him to shake. "You can just call me Jane, though."

Tim shook her hand, feeling a blush rise up again. "I'm Tim…Timothy…um, McGee."

"Okay, Tim Timothy McGee," she teased, "it's nice to meet you. Everyone on board is talking about the Admiral's son being here. You're kind of a mini-celebrity."

While Jane went about grabbing some items, Tim leaned back against the gurney and groaned. "I don't think my dad is too pleased about me being here."

"Oh, he's just upset about the situation. The Admiral doesn't like murder aboard his ships; no one does." She gestured for him to sit up, which he did with a little assistance from Ziva. Sticking the stethoscope earpieces in her ears, Jane stuck the diaphragm under his shirt and placed it against his chest. "Heartbeat seems a little fast, but that's to be expected. Let me just check your blood pressure."

Jane grabbed the monitor and wrapped it around his arm. "To be honest," she continued as she filled the monitor with air, "we were a little surprised to hear he even had a son."

Tim frowned. "He's never mentioned me?" That stung. He had assumed his father would have at least mentioned him if only in passing.

"Well, Admiral McGee isn't very talkative," she said, hoping to spare Tim's feelings. "I only knew about your mom and sister because they came to see him off."

"Oh…yeah. I couldn't make it." Truth be told he hadn't even heard his father was shipping out until his mother told him a week after the Stennis had set sail.

"Well, you're stationed in Washington, D.C., right? It's not exactly a quick drive." She took down his blood pressure and set the monitor to the side. "Now, tell me about this sickness. How long have you been suffering from seasickness?"

"Since I was seven and my dad tried to take me fishing."

"I meant since you boarded, but I'll take that to mean you get sea sick a lot."

"Anytime I'm on water."

"Even while taking a bath?" she asked with a smile.

"I manage in the tub."

"I am sure the bubbles help," Ziva said, hiding a grin. She ignored Tim's glare.

"Any allergies?"

"Cats."

"What about medicines?"

"Not that I know."

"And how long will you and your team be here?"

"Until we've got our killer."

At that Jane took pause, her face going a little white. "Do you really think Collins was murdered?"

"We do," Ziva cut in. "Did you know the Petty Officer well?"

"He was kind of infamous. A prankster, you know? I mean, I like a good laugh now and then, but it gets to be pretty annoying when someone makes a daily habit out of bothering people."

Ziva and Tim exchanged twin expressions. "We know the feeling," Ziva said.

"Well, then you know that not everyone took kindly to his antics. Oh, sure, some of the younger guys looked up to him as some sort of role model, but most people just wanted him gone." Realizing her wording, Jane quickly backtracked. "I don't mean 'gone' as in 'dead'; just reassigned or something."

"Did he bother anyone in particular?" Tim asked.

"The Admiral didn't much care for him. I guess Captain Glenn didn't either. He was in the way a lot."

_Another strike against my dad_, Tim thought sourly.

"So how did he die?" Jane asked.

"We can't discuss that," Tim said.

"I just hope it wasn't too painful for him. I mean, he was a pest, but no one deserves to die, especially not in such a horrible way. I could tell you some horrific stories about the deaths I've seen."

"That won't be necessary," he said quickly.

"Yes, we do not want to further upset his stomach," Ziva added.

"Well, Agent McGee, I'm sure we can settle your stomach with some basic medication." She went to the cabinet and pulled out two pill bottles. She handed him one, saying, "Take two of these with every meal. You can take a couple more if you're really feeling bad, but don't take more than five doses within 24 hours and don't take them on an empty stomach. Before you go to bed, take one of these," she continued, handing him the second one, "and it'll help you get to sleep. You can take two if you think you need it, but you'll wake up feeling like you're hungover. It'll also dry out your mouth badly, so be careful. Got it?"

Tim nodded as he slipped the pills into his pocket. "Got it."

"Good. If you have any more problems, my door is always open." She put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a soft squeeze. "Take care, Agent McGee."

"She is very pretty," Ziva said once Jane had left.

"What?"

"Do not deny that you were looking at her, McGee."

"Well, of course, I was looking at her, Ziva. I don't think I need to shield my eyes just because a pretty woman is in the room."

"I mean you were looking at her in that way. The way Tony looks at women." Her eyes held glee. "You like her."

He slipped off the gurney. "And so what if I do?"

Ziva shrugged. "Just don't let Tony know. You'll never hear the end of it."

Tim didn't want to think about that. He was sure that if Tony met Jane she wouldn't even give Tim a second thought. "Speaking of Tony, we should probably reconvene with him and Gibbs. We still have a job to do."

"You should take your medicine if you want to be of any use. It's almost lunch time anyway."

* * *

The team met in an empty office where a meal had been set up for them. Tim didn't feel much like eating, but Jane had told him not to take the pills without eating so he decided to nibble on one of the sandwiches as they went over the current information with Agent Forbes.

"The body and physical evidence are on their way back with Ducky and Palmer," Gibbs said. "We're going to conclude the interviews after lunch."

Tony grabbed an apple and bit into it before picking up the conversation. "So far," he said with his mouth full, "we know this Collins guy liked to pull pranks and seemed to annoy most of his superiors."

"He was a handful," Forbes agreed. "I had to deal with him on occasion. He and a couple of his buddies got themselves involved in a few poker games that I had to break up, but he mostly kept out of trouble in that respect. It was the prank streak you had to watch out for. Not a bad guy or anything, just immature. I don't think he was ready for the Navy."

"I think his superiors kept hoping the Navy would be able to knock the juvenile streak out of him," Tony said. "Looks like his fellow Petty Officers considered him something of a hero."

"Some of them, Agent DiNozzo; a few of them were just as annoyed by him as anyone."

"Any in particular?" Gibbs asked.

"Well, I'm pretty sure there was a scuffle between him and Petty Officer Kenneth Simon. Nothing was reported, but they both ended up with a few bruises and Collins had a black eye. He said he got it during one of the landings. He and Simon both worked on the Arresting Gear team."

"You did not pursue the matter further?" asked Ziva.

"Like I said, no one was admitting to anything. Besides, sometimes it's better to let them work out problems by themselves and this seemed like one of those times."

"And now that Collins is dead, do you still think that, Agent Forbes?" Gibbs asked as he found Simon's name on the list of the ship's occupants and marked it for later. They hadn't yet spoken with Collins' fellow Petty Officers, but he assumed they would provide a good deal of insight.

Forbes sighed, ducking his head down slightly. "I should have pursued it, I know, Agent Gibbs; hindsight is 20/20. But at the time they seemed to have gotten it out of their system. They were at least civil to each other."

"So what happened when you found the body?" Tim asked as he took another sandwich from the tray. His stomach was finally beginning to settle a bit.

"Well, Capt. Glenn was the one who alerted me. I came with him to the corridor and saw Admiral McGee standing there waiting for us."

"And how did he seem?" Tim asked, trying to keep a calm face. He didn't want it to appear as though his question was prompted by anything other than his investigative curiosity.

"Nervous, I suppose. Not outwardly, but I could see in his eyes that he was in shock. I had never seen him like that. He's usually very calm under pressure."

Tim knew that. His father was the kind of man who preferred to keep his emotions bottled up. While growing up he had seen a small scope of moods from his father. Anger seemed to be the most obvious, though it rarely came in the form of rage; instead, his father would calmly express his disappointment, which, for Tim, was even worse than a scolding. Sometimes his father had smiled, though as Tim grew older those smiles began to come less and less often. As for any other displays of emotion, he had only seen his father cry once and that was when Tim's grandfather had passed away. Even then Patrick McGee had taken to sitting alone in the bathroom to express his sorrow over his father's death. Tim had only accidentally stumbled upon it when his mother had sent him to tell his father it was time to leave for the funeral. His father hadn't known he was standing there, watching him cry and even to this day he had no idea his son had seen him in one of his few moments of vulnerability. It was a memory Tim liked to hold close because it reminded him that his father was as human as he was.

"You said he had blood on his hands?" Gibbs asked, pulling Tim from his recollection.

Forbes shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His eyes flickered in Tim's direction. "Yes, but based on his account of finding the body it's not surprising. He turned the body over because he assumed Collins was joking again. I wouldn't put to much stock in him having blood on his hands."

Tim didn't respond, but he did feel an inward sense of relief. At least the Agent Afloat didn't suspect his father.

Gibbs wasn't completely convinced, though. "What did you do upon finding the crime scene?"

"Are you suggesting that I don't know how to do my job, Gibbs?" Forbes' face had grown a little red.

"No, I just want to know everything that happened before we arrived. That's how I work."

"I followed basic protocol. I secured the crime scene, took pictures, and instructed two of the Seamen to guard the area while I met with you."

"And if one of them had been the killer?" Gibbs asked. "Do you think it would be wise to leave them alone with the body?"

"Both of them had been on duty at the time of the murder. I assumed that was a strong enough alibi."

"Never assume," Gibbs muttered, but he didn't press the issue. "I'll need the names of the Seamen." Forbes gave him the names of Seamen Adam Powell and Henley Slater.

"Anything else, Agent Gibbs?" he asked, glancing at the clock. "I have other duties to return to at the moment."

"More important than a murder?"

Forbes smiled wryly. "No, but murders aren't really my area of expertise. That's why we called you in. I've got other cases to go through."

"Anything big?" Tony asked.

"A few gambling violations, some on-board scuffles, and one illegal contraband in the form of Jamaican rum. Not exactly the exciting stuff you see on TV."

"Don't I know it. I worked Agent Afloat a few years back. I'll resign before going back to that."

"I'll let you know if we need anything else," Gibbs said, silently nodding to the door. Once Forbes had gone, the others began talking.

"The blood we found on the floor indicates that Collins was likely attacked twenty to twenty-five feet away from where the body was found," Ziva said, bringing the pictures up on the laptop. "McGee also found something interesting in the nearby supply closet."

"Someone had recently puked in there," he said, wincing at the very word, afraid it might make his stomach act up again.

"Sure it wasn't yours?" Tony joked. He received a smack to the head for his efforts.

"No," he replied sourly. "I managed to grab a bucket before I saw it. Someone threw sawdust on top, but otherwise hadn't tried to clean it up. Chances are they didn't have time."

"Maybe the murderer has a weak stomach. Not the first time a newbie killer reacted poorly to the sight of their victim."

"That is possible, but, given what I've found, unlikely." They all turned to the laptop where Ducky had now appeared on the screen. Based on his surroundings, it looked as though he was in Abby's lab.

"You've finished the autopsy, Duck?"

"Not quite. Mr. Palmer is finishing up down there at the moment. When I examined him, though, I found severe irritation in his throat along with the remains of regurgitated food particles."

"Petty Officer Collins was the one who was sick," Ziva said.

"Yes and I gave a sample of what we found to Abigail. She may give us a better idea of why our sailor was having stomach problems."

Abby's face appeared on the screen. "Hi, Gibbs! Speaking of sickness, how's McGee's stomach?"

"Just fine," Tim mumbled.

"How is your dad doing? Was he happy to see you? Are you guys having any bonding moments?"

"Abby," Gibbs intersected, "what do you have?"

"Well, nothing yet. I've got Mass Spec going and I'm running the prints from the knife. I figured that whoever killed him is already aboard the ship, so I limited the search to the files of those sailors to save ti-" It was then that a small ding sounded, interrupting her. "And it looks like we've got a match, Gibbs!" she exclaimed as she pulled up the results. Her expression immediately changed once she had done so, her face paling slightly.

"Abbs?" he prompted.

"Um…Gibbs…" she stammered. "The prints on the knife match only one officer aboard the ship."

Suddenly Tim's stomach wasn't feeling so good anymore. "Whose?"

She looked back at them, an apologetic expression etched onto her face. "Admiral Patrick McGee."


	5. Chapter 5

Abby's announcement made the room go silent, with all eyes turning to Tim, who was fidgeting in his seat as he digested this information.

"Boss, that doesn't necessarily mean anything," He said nervously. "Right?"

"Fingerprints on the murder weapon, McGee" said Gibbs.

"It's pretty damning evidence," Tony said quietly.

Luckily, Abby was more optimistic of the Admiral's possible innocence. "But, Gibbs, if he had handled the knife at some point and the killer wore gloves, his fingerprints would be the only ones on there. I mean, it's possible, right?"

Possible? Sure. Probable? That was another question all together. Gibbs' gut was speaking, but he couldn't yet understand what it was saying. "McGee," he said slowly, "I understand your instinct to protect your father, but-"

"Boss," he said, interrupting Gibbs for the first time in his career, "I know we've bent the rules before when dealing with someone, especially family members. I'm not asking you to strike him as a suspect completely, but can't we hold off on charging him? I mean, we haven't even talked to everyone yet. Maybe there's a suspect we're missing, right?"

"_But_," Gibbs continued with a sharp look, "we'll need to keep him on our radar while we continue the investigation. If that's okay with you," he added with an edge of sarcasm.

Tim's cheeks went pink.

"In the mean time we'll consider other possibilities, including Petty Officer Simon. If Collins pulled as many pranks as we've been told I wouldn't be surprised if he made more enemies than anyone is admitting."

"Do you need anything else from us?" Abby asked, indicating Ducky and herself.

"Not unless you've got more to report."

Abby grinned. "If I did, don't you think I'd be telling you?"

"Probably," Gibbs said, managing a grin in return. "You're not exactly the silent type. Let me know when Mass Spec's got something for you."

"As you wish, El Jefe," she replied, going into a deep bow.

"And get a Caf-Pow, on me."

With that, the screen went blank, leaving the team alone. "Tony, Ziva: finish the interviews, starting with Petty Officer Simon. McGee, take a look at Collins' laptop. Maybe this has more to do with pranks."

"What are you going to do?" Tim asked as he grabbed his things.

"I'm going to have a talk with Admiral McGee and Captain Glenn," he said without hesitation.

"Do you think that's a good idea?" He knew it wasn't the best thing to say, but somehow Tim heard the words come out anyway. He saw Tony and Ziva stop in the doorway and exchange glances. Tim wasn't the type to question Gibbs' actions.

"McGee, I told you this morning that you would need to keep an objective sense and was assured you would. Do I need to ask for another transport back to NCIS?"

This time the pink tinge went all the way up to Tim's ears. He ducked his head to the side, trying to hide his embarrassment. "I'll be fine, boss," he muttered.

"Good." Gibbs' tone seemed softer than it had been.

He turned to Tony and Ziva and nodded for them to head out before turning back to Tim. "I know you're conflicted, McGee. If we can leave here without having to arrest your father I'll be just as relieved as you. But until then, you're not helping him by trying to interfere with the investigation."

"Boss, I wasn't trying to-"

Gibbs held up a hand to silence him. "You'll be better off finding new evidence, evidence that points to someone else. That's the best way to help him. Find the real killer."

"Okay," Tim said. "I will. I'll show you my dad isn't a killer."

"I hope you do," Gibbs said.

As Tim gathered his things and left, he didn't notice the small trace of a smile on Gibbs' face.

* * *

Petty Officer Kenneth Simon was the first person sent in once Tony and Ziva had settled in the Wardroom. He was a well-built young man who stood proud and tall in his uniform. It was obvious by his appearance that his family was of Asian heritage, a fact confirmed by his file. "Your mother is Korean and your father is American," Tony said. "He was in the Navy as well."

"Yes, sir," Simon replied in a courteous, though cool, manner.

"I take it the Navy is taken seriously in your family?" Ziva asked.

"Patriotism is taken seriously," he replied. "My grandfather was a Marine and I had two uncles in the Air Force. Even my mother and aunt show their pride in their country by volunteering for military causes. They grew up in North Korea, but they don't talk about it much. I know they were lucky enough to leave and come here with their father. They value their freedom as American citizens and the men and women who fight to keep that freedom."

"So you do not take kindly to someone who is less dedicated than you?"

It was evident by his expression that he knew to whom she was referring. "Collins had no place aboard this ship, ma'am. I don't doubt he was a good man, but his antics were a hindrance to us all."

"Is that why you fought with him?"

"I didn't fight with him, Agent DiNozzo. I spoke to him, told him what his so-called 'jokes' were doing and asked him to knock it off. He threw a punch and I retaliated, but only in self-defense."

"Why didn't you report it?" Ziva asked.

When Simon didn't respond, Tony spoke up. "I guess it wouldn't look good to your family if you were written up for fighting, even if you hadn't started it."

"My family expects a certain amount of discipline and I don't wish to disappoint. Confronting him was a mistake on my part, but I had no idea he would go off like that."

Ziva raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you didn't say anything more to goad him?"

Once again, Simon went silent, averting his eyes from hers. "Petty Officer, you will not be in trouble for this," she assured him. "But anything you said may be helpful in finding his killer."

Simon mumbled something under his breath. "What was that, sailor?" Tony asked. "You'll need to speak up."

"I threatened to go to Admiral McGee if he didn't stop," Simon said.

"The Admiral was already aware of these pranks, though, was he not?" asked Ziva.

"Not about the pranks," he said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "About his knee."

"His knee?"

"About four months ago Petty Officer Collins was hurt during a landing. He claimed to have twisted his knee and was sent to sick bay to be checked out. He had to take it easy for a few days, but then he came back to work, claiming he was healed."

"You don't think he was?" Tony asked as he leaned forward.

"I saw him returning to the sick bay multiple times a week. He told me it was nothing and I believed him, until I found medicine hidden beneath his mattress."

"What kind of medicine?"

"Pain killers mostly. A lot of them. More than he should have had."

"So you believe he did more damage than he let on and was popping pills to get through the day?"

"If you had this suspicion," Ziva began, "why didn't you go immediately to your superiors? Did you think it was wise to allow someone who was possibly still injured and on pain medication to continue work with your team? Someone could have been hurt or killed."

"He wasn't showing any sign that it was interfering with his work," Simon snapped back. "Everything seemed normal. That's why I figured it wasn't my place to go talking to anyone about it. I only brought it up to him because his antics were starting to get in the way. I figured it was the best leverage I had over him."

"Well, he didn't stop his pranks," Tony said," but you still didn't report this to anyone."

Ziva pursed her lips as she watched Simon shift under her stare. "You must have realized then that you didn't have leverage at all. You hadn't reported your suspicions when you first had them and then you were involved in a fight with a fellow sailor."

"I told you, I didn't start that!"

"You were more concerned about your pride than you were about whether or not Collins was a danger to himself or anyone else."

P.O. Simon didn't have a retort for that one. His head fell low, a silent acceptance of what Ziva had just said. His hands were clasped together on the table before him, his right index finger tapping rapidly as he waited for them to continue.

"Where were you between the hours of 0500 and 0600 this morning?" Tony asked.

"With my team, sir."

"And they can verify that you were with them?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did anyone notice that Collins was missing?" Ziva asked.

"He had been placed on head duty. Punishment for his latest practical joke. We weren't expecting to see him back for quite some time."

Tony and Ziva exchanged look, giving nearly imperceptible nods of agreement.

"You're free to go, Petty Officer," Tony said at last. "We may need to ask you more questions, though."

"I won't go far," Simon said wryly as he stood. But he didn't leave immediately. He held his hat in his hand, wringing it gently as he hesitated, wondering how to ask the question. "Will my…the incident with Collins…will that need to be disclosed?" he asked.

"That depends on how much it factors into his murder," Tony said, putting on a strong poker face. "Chances are your superiors will hear about it."

Simon had a quick look of fear flash through his eyes, but he soon squashed that and retained a stoic face. He nodded. "I understand. If you need anything else, you know where to find me."

"If his story is verified by his team, we can rule him out," Ziva said once P.O. Simon was gone. "Not a fan of Collins, but not his killer either. You think?"

Tony shook his head. "I don't think that kid's a killer. Just a son who wants to make his father proud. It can be tough growing up in a military family like that."

"Like McGee."

"Yeah…" Tony said. "Kind of makes you wonder."

"Wonder what?"

"If that could have been McGee. You know: obsessed with the rules, focused on pleasing his father, afraid of letting down his family."

Ziva laughed. "You think that isn't McGee? Oh, sure, he may not have followed in the same footprints as his father," she conceded, "but he is still preoccupied with his father being proud of him. He just goes about it in a different way."

"Doesn't seem to be working."

"You do not know that, Tony."

"Well, if their body language when they saw each other meant anything, I'd say there are still some issues to be worked out between them. Admiral McGee didn't seem all too pleased that his son was standing there."

"McGee is not here as his guest; he is here to investigate a murder, one that involves the Admiral. I am sure that contributed greatly to his unease."

"What do you think caused the rift? McGee not going Navy?"

"Why must you always stick your nose in other peoples' business, Tony?"

"I'm an investigator, it's part of the job."

"I think if McGee wanted us to know he would have told us," she said, thinking of her own father and their tumultuous relationship.

"Well, my bet is on the Navy thing. The Admiral strikes me as the kind of guy who loves tradition. My guess is _his_ father was an Admiral too, and maybe even his father's father. When your own son breaks that chain it can be pretty embarrassing. Though, it's probably for the best. I can't imagine McGee surviving these conditions for a whole term." As if to prove Tony's point, the boat lurched again, swaying in the rough waters.

"I hope Probie's stomach is holding up," Tony said once the ship had calmed.

"If it is not, I am sure he'll be more than happy to visit Lieutenant Doyle again," she said with a note of mischief in her voice.

* * *

Truth be told, Tim _was_ back with Jane, though not on account of his sour stomach. He had retrieved Collins personal belongings, including his personal laptop, and was looking for a place to check the contents in peace. The sick bay had looked empty when he'd been in there, so he headed there first.

"Agent McGee," Jane greeted brightly when she saw him in the doorway. "Are you feeling sick again?"

"No, I'm doing fine," he said, despite the fluttering he felt in his stomach when she smiled. "I just need somewhere to work in private and was wondering if I could take up some space in here for a little while? I mean, unless someone needs the space."

"Feel free," she said, nodding to an empty desk. "I'm just taking inventory for our next supply re-stocking."

"Thanks." He took the seat and set up Collins' laptop.

"Have you found anything interesting?" she asked.

"Uh, I can't actually talk about the case," he said. "Strict orders. Sorry."

But she wasn't offended. "No need to apologize for doing your jobs. I was just being nosy. To be honest, it's a little scary being on a ship with a killer."

"I'm sure you'll be safe. Killing one person aboard a ship is risky; I can't imagine this guy will try to kill two."

"I hope you're right, Agent McGee."

"Please, call me Tim."

Jane positively beamed. "Well, Tim, I need to get my list up to the Captain, so I'll leave you to get your work done. If someone shows up, please tell them I'll be back soon."

"I will," he said before she left. He knew he had a stupid grin on his face, but he just couldn't get it off. Instead, he dove into his work, hoping he'd find something on Collins' computer that would point them away from his father.

* * *

"Agent Gibbs?" Captain Glenn asked as her and Patrick joined Gibbs in the Admiral's chambers. "You wished to speak with us?"

"Please, sit," Gibbs instructed, gesturing to two empty chairs. He had taken a place behind Patrick's desk, a fact that did not go unnoticed as they sat.

"What progress have you made in your investigation?" Patrick asked, choosing to ignore the fact that Gibbs was sitting in his chair.

"The investigation is still underway. We're still speaking with those aboard the ship, but we have found fingerprints on the murder weapon which have linked us to a suspect."

"Who?"

"You."

For the first time since the team had arrived, Gibbs saw the Admiral's poker face slip. However, it wasn't a look of dread or guilt that crossed his face, but one of confusion. "I'm afraid I don't understand, Agent Gibbs."

"There were fingerprints on the handle of the knife," Gibbs said calmly, "and they matched yours."

"It's possible Admiral McGee had touched the knife previously," Glenn suggested, visibly ruffled by the idea of his ship's Admiral being accused.

"Possible," Gibbs conceded. "Do you think that's what happened, Admiral?"

Patrick wasn't certain. "The knife didn't belong to me, if that's what you're asking. I didn't recognize it as one that I'd ever used. My job aboard the ship doesn't generally involve weaponry."

"So you're saying you had never touched it previously?"

"I'm saying that I couldn't give a clear answer to that. If I had to guess…well, I'd have to say that I probably had not touched it before. But I can assure you that I was not the one to kill the boy."

"Do you recall touching it when you went to the body?" Gibbs asked.

"Maybe." But Patrick still looked uncertain. "To be quite honest, I was in such a state of shock that I can't completely remember. I suppose I could have touched it."

"Shock?" Gibbs replied. "I'm sure you've seen dead bodies before."

"Not outside of battle and certainly not aboard my own ship, Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs nodded, but didn't say anything. He kept his eyes on Patrick, not sure what he was looking for. With his guard now down, Patrick McGee looked more like his son than ever. His large green eyes held concern and bewilderment as he tried to sort out the situation into which he'd been thrust.

"So what happens now?" Patrick asked, breaking the silence. "Are you going to arrest me?"

"As I said, the investigation is still ongoing. We're not ready to make an arrest. However, I will ask that, for the time being, you hand over your responsibilities to Captain Glenn until we've completed our investigation."

"So I'm under house arrest," Patrick said.

"More or less. You still have free reign of the ship, just none of the work."

It was evident that the Admiral wasn't happy about the decision, but wasn't about to fight it. "I'm more than willing to cooperate," he said.

"I'm glad to hear that…and I'm sure your son will be as well."

Patrick's expression softened upon mention of his son. "How is Tim?"

"You haven't spoken to him?"

"I haven't had much of an opportunity, given the circumstances."

"He's fine," Gibbs said curtly.

"How is he feeling? I know he can get a bit…well…uneasy when he's on the water," he said, casting a side-long glance toward Glenn.

"A little under the weather, but your Lt. Doyle gave him some medication to clear up his problem."

Patrick nodded, a small flicker of relief in his eyes. "And would I be allowed to speak to him in the course of this investigation?"

"As long as you're not asking him for details about the case."

"Fair enough. Is that all?"

"For now."

"Then I'd like permission to reclaim my office. In privacy," he added, giving Gibbs a pointed look. He could have sworn Gibbs almost smiled back.

"It's all yours, Admiral. I'm sure I don't have to ask you not to go anywhere before the investigation is finished."

"Where exactly would I go? We're at least fifty miles from land."

"In this line of work, Admiral," said Gibbs before closing the door, "you'd be surprised by the lengths people will go to avoid arrest."


	6. Chapter 6

Tim leaned back in his chair with a groan, bringing his arms over his head and clasping his fingers together as he stretched out his sore muscles. He had been laboriously going through Collins' laptop, scrutinizing every detail for some clue as to why he'd been killed. He'd quickly discovered, though, that there wasn't much to find. P.O. Collins' internet history showed that most of his time online was spent alternating between Facebook, the NYSE website (which was surprising), and a forum for practical joke ideas (which was far less surprising). He sent few e-mails, mostly to other friends in the Navy who were stationed elsewhere. The only thing that seemed strange was when their conversations turned to horse racing. It seemed Collins was a fan of the sport, though he didn't place any bets. In fact, he seemed to be the one getting bets from his friends:

_Subject: Tracks this weekend_

_From: sailorboy903_

_To: punkdman_

_Hey, Joe! I'm gonna be placing a bet for this weekend. $3000 on #8 in Belmont Park. Get back to me soon._

_Steve_

_PS: Gonna be hitting Aruba soon! I'll be sure to get some souvenirs!_

$3000 sure seemed like a lot of money for a guy in the Navy to throw away on a horse race, but then, Tim supposed, the guy may have come from money. Or he may have been having quite the lucky streak.

But how was Collins keeping tabs on the races? Life on an aircraft carrier didn't usually allow time for checking the racing forms. And would the Navy even approve of this? Not that Tim had any evidence that Collins had been doing anything but listening to his friends place bets. He never responded to the bets or implied that he would be sending them their winnings. He simply replied back as though no mention of horse racing had even been made.

"Still toiling away?"

Jane had returned, obviously surprised to see Tim still there. "I'd have thought you'd be grabbing a bite to eat."

Tim looked at the time and saw that it was almost 6:30. Where had the time gone?

"I guess I can put this aside for now," he said as he shut down. "Doesn't look like there's anything useful on here anyway."

"Were you expecting a note from him saying 'Here's who killed me'?" Jane asked with a small smile.

Tim couldn't help but laugh. "If only. My job is never that easy."

"You can head down to the mess hall for dinner. The food is pretty decent and it's a hot meal. Oh, and don't forget to take your medicine," she added before he hastened out. "We wouldn't want you getting sick again."

As Tim walked through the corridor on his way to the mess hall, another man rounded the corner toward him.

"Agent Timothy McGee?" he asked. When Tim nodded, he said, "Your presence has been requested by Admiral McGee in his office."

"Right now?" Tim asked. His stomach grumbled.

"Yes, sir. He has dinner waiting there for you."

"Um…okay," Tim said uncertainly, not sure what else to do but follow the man. Why was his father calling on him? Was Gibbs there as well? Was this one last meeting before they arrested his father? His muscles quivered ever so slightly with fear as he walked the corridor toward the Admiral's office.

His father, however, was alone, sitting at his desk with two trays of food. On the other side of the desk was another chair, obviously left vacant for Tim.

"Thank you, Ensign Rowe," Patrick said to the man, who bowed in response. "You may return to your post."

"Yes, sir."

The door closed behind Tim, but he remained standing. He didn't want to be so presumptuous as to sit before his father invited him in.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, Tim. Please, sit."

Tim did as instructed.

"No one has seen you in the mess hall, so I assumed you hadn't eaten dinner yet," Patrick said, pushing a tray toward him.

"That's why you invited me here?"

"It's part of the reason."

"What's the other part?" Tim asked as he picked up a knife and fork and began cutting off a slice of his pork chop.

Patrick looked up from his meal, almost surprised that Tim even needed to ask. "To talk to you, of course."

"I can't discuss the investigation."

"Yes, Agent Gibbs has already told me as much."

"Well…then…?" Tim couldn't imagine what else his father would want to discuss. Even when they were on the best of terms, Patrick McGee was about as verbose as Gibbs. He recalled dinner from his younger days in which his mother would question Tim and Sarah about their day at school while Patrick sat quietly, barely even listening. He was usually the first one finished and would quickly retire to his private office with a small glass of brandy and his work. It had often gotten to the point where Tim would sometimes forget what his father's voice even sounded like.

"I thought that, seeing as you're here, we may as well take the time to…talk," his father said, pushing out the word "talk" as though the very idea was uncomfortable to him (which it seemed it was).

"Why?" Tim poked at his green bean. "Our last conversation spoke volumes."

"I'm afraid I'm not best at surprise phone calls."

"Especially when they come from an estranged son?"

Patrick made no attempt to deny this. "I just mean that when you called I had a lot on my mind. Admittedly, I was unable to give the situation my full attention."

"The situation?" Tim echoed. "It was a call from a family member, dad, not a breach in security or an attack on the ship. I wasn't expecting a long, drawn-out talk filled with heart-felt apologies or anything, but it would have been nice if you had sounded as though you were a little pleased to be talking with me after seven years."

"I told you," Patrick repeated, his tone growing firmer, "I was taken by surprise. I didn't know how to respond."

"Well, a nice 'how have you been?' would have worked."

"How _have_ you been?"

Suddenly Tim didn't feel like answering the question. "Fine," he mumbled, purposely trying to sound as petulant as possible..

"Are you happier now that I've asked?"

"Not really."

"Well, then I'm glad we got it out of the way. Are there any other things I neglected to say or ask?"

Tim's eyes fell to his plate. He could feel the tips of his ears burning. "It just would have been nice if you had at least pretended like you were happy to hear from me."

"Why would you think I wasn't happy?" His father sounded truly shocked.

"Because you never bothered to pick up the phone in the last seven years."

"Nor did you."

"I think I had every right to be angry with you."

Patrick nodded. "Yes…yes, you did," he agreed. "I did not give you the respect that you deserved. It was your choice to follow your own career path and I had no right to interfere."

This time it was Tim's turn to look surprised. His father had never admitted to being wrong, especially when it came to Tim's choice not to join the Navy.

"But," Patrick continued, "you have to see it from my point of view, Timothy. I only wanted what was best for you."

"This is what's best for me. I'm doing great work with NCIS."

"Maybe, but I just know that you could do…"

"Better," Tim said, finishing the sentence he knew was coming. "That's what it is. I can do better. Try again, right?" He stood, pushing the food away. The tray slipped off the side of the desk and fell to the floor, but neither man looked to it. "It's that all over again."

"What is?" Patrick asked. "It's _what_ all over again?"

"My whole life, dad. It's always been that I could do better, to try again. Even when I was getting straight A's, there was something wrong, something I wasn't perfecting. Like that card."

"What card?"

Tim's cheeks flushed, realizing what he'd just said. "Nothing…just forget it."

"No, Timothy; you've started this conversation and we're going to see it through."

He was quiet as he considered whether or not to actually talk about this with his dad. It was pretty silly now that he thought about it. What good would it be to bring it up now? But he had already said it and he knew his father wouldn't drop it until he explained.

"When I was seven, I made you a birthday card," he whispered. "And you just handed it back to me and said, 'You can do better. Try again.'"

Tim was looking away, so he didn't see his father's reaction. Patrick had no recollection of that incident, though he didn't doubt it had happened. He knew he had been exceptionally hard on his children, though it had not come from a place of anger or hatred. Quite the opposite, actually.

"If I ever pushed you to do better," he began softly, "it was only because I wanted you to be the best you could be."

"Maybe that _was_ the best I could be," Tim snapped back, no longer afraid of pushing his father away. "I was never going to be you, dad."

"I only said those things to make you look beyond what you thought you could do, to push yourself and exceed expectations."

"That might have been what was in your mind," Tim said, "but when you say it to a seven-year-old it just reminds him that he's still not good enough for his own father."

Patrick couldn't even begin to articulate a response. He was at a complete loss for words, feeling as though that last statement had given him a punch to the stomach. That his own son could think he felt that way was astounding. "Tim…"

"I'm not really hungry anymore," Tim said, cutting Patrick off before he could begin. He shoved the plate away. "I'd better get back to work."

Before slamming the door behind him, Tim added, "With luck, we'll be finished soon, and you won't have to be embarrassed by having your disappointment of a son on the ship."

* * *

Despite what he'd told his father, Tim's hungry hadn't subsided, so he swung through the mess hall to grab a bite to eat. A few of the sailors there regarded him warily and no one seemed keen to have him sit with them. It was very much like high school all over again.

Finally, he squeezed onto the end of a table and ate quietly.

"Hey...," came a voice a little ways down. Tim looked up and saw a young man with white blond hair gesturing for him.

"Yes?"

"You're one of the NCIS guys, right?" When Tim nodded the young man continued. "Was Collins really murdered?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss it."

"Oh." The young man looked quite disappointed.

"Did you know him well?" Tim asked, mostly for conversation sake, but also from an investigative standpoint.

"Yeah, he and I worked the same team. Petty Officer Meyer," he said. He stood and moved further down to where Tim sat and extended a hand.

Tim took it and gave it a shake. "Agent McGee."

Meyer's eyes went a bit wide. "Oh…so you're the Admiral's son."

"Yes," Tim said curtly. "But I'm here as an NCIS agent."

"Gotcha."

"So were you and Collins close?"

"Oh, yeah. I mean, we weren't best friends or anything, but we kind of stuck together."

"Did you help him with his jokes?"

"Nah, but I can't say I stopped him either," he admitted. "Though I didn't know anything about that last one. That was a bit over the top, if you ask me."

Tim nodded. "So what kind of things was he into?"

"Well, I already went over that with the other two. The hot chick and that other guy. Like I said, he was a pretty typical guy. He was smarter than most people think. I know he had a knack for computers and wanted to study technology once he went to college. He was a terrible poker player. Not that we played often," he added hastily, realizing he was speaking to an agent. "Just a few times here and there."

"Don't worry, I'm not going to turn you in for some gambling," Tim said, though it had brought to mind another thought. "Did Collins also play the ponies?"

"Maybe," Meyer said with a shrug. "Though this isn't the best place for that kind of stuff. You can't really follow the odds and races here."

"What about the stock market? Was he playing that?"

"Don't know. He did seem to be coming into a bit more money, and from the sound of it he was going to be coming into more. We all thought some rich uncle had died or something."

"And you told all of this to Agents DiNozzo and David?"

"No," Meyer said before biting into a sandwich. "They didn't really ask about it."

Tim suddenly felt like he needed to be back at Collins' laptop. He thanked Meyer and tossed his leftover food before hurrying back to the sickbay. Jane wasn't there, but Tony was.

"Boss wants to know what you've got," Tony said as Tim slipped by him.

"Not much. But I'm still looking. I may have a new angle."

"What angle would that be?"

He filled Tony in on Collins' gambling habits while he booted up the computer. Meyer had mentioned Collins' aptitude with computers. Perhaps he had hidden something more in the laptop.

"So you think this could have something to do with his debts?" Tony asked.

"You think it's unlikely?"

"No, I just don't know how to prove it. You ask guys on this ship if illegal gambling going on and none of them is going to admit to it."

He peered over Tim's shoulder. "What are you doing? I thought you'd already checked his computer."

"I did," Tim said, "but maybe not as thoroughly as I should have."

"Slacking off on the job? Do we need to get another geek in here?"

"Look, I just had a lot on my mind."

"Like your father?"

Tim shot him a withering glare. "He asked me to have dinner in his office. Wanted to talk."

"Yeah? How'd that go?"

"Well, I think I'll be skipping the next family get-together."

Tony gave him a pat on the back. "Give it time. Look at me and my old man: in the next five years or so I may not wince every time his name pops up on my caller ID."

Tim was only half-listening as Tony spoke, though not out because he was trying to ignore him. He had just come upon something that could be interesting. "It's encrypted."

"What's that?"

"I found this file on Collins' computer, but it's encrypted."

"Well, can't you just un-encrypt it?"

"Of course," Tim muttered, "but it'll take time."

"How much time?"

"Don't know. I'll just have to work at it and see."

Tony glanced at his watch. "It's about 8:15. I'll let Gibbs know. Call us when you've got it done."

"I will," Tim said, barely listening. His fingers were already flying and his mind was clear of his altercation with his father. He was completely in his zone, and that meant blocking out everything else around him. So focused was Tim that he didn't even hear the door open behind him and the soft footsteps file in.

"Yes," he whispered as the decryption completed. His eyes scanned the document, his heart thumping as he realized what it was. He had to call Gibbs.

Before he could retrieve his phone, though, a gloved hand clamped over his mouth and he felt a stinging sensation in his neck. Then, everything went black.

When Tony peeked in half an hour later, there was no sign of Tim or the laptop.

* * *

**AN: **Sorry for the long pause between updates. Unfortunately, Hurricane Isaac was not too kind to my house, so I haven't had time to update, but things seem to be slowing down now :)


	7. Chapter 7

Patrick awoke the following morning with a heavy stomach. It was rare for him to wake up and not immediately ready himself for the day's work. He had a strict schedule to which he adhered, never wavering from it, except in times of emergency. But his conversation with Tim the night before – along with being absolved of his duties at the moment – kept him from instantly going through his morning routine.

Had he really been that terrible of a father to his son? He remembered that Margaret would sometimes speak to him about expecting too much of Tim, but she had never seemed to fear that his actions came from anywhere but his heart. She knew he was only trying to give his son the best advice he could. He didn't treat Tim any differently than his own father had treated him.

_But he's not me_, Patrick thought with a sigh. No matter how much Tim looked like him, Patrick knew they were mostly cut from different cloth. Sarah took after him – she could take criticism without pause and looked at his comments as a challenge to push herself even further; Tim, though, took after his mother. He was quiet and observant, but slightly uncertain of himself. As much as Patrick may push him, Tim was never going to be like him; he was always going to be his own man, a fact that both pleased and bothered Patrick.

He loved his son. There wasn't a doubt in his mind or heart of that. Getting through seven years of silence was difficult, especially when he knew (though wouldn't easily admit) that he had been the one to close off that door. The problem was that he didn't know how to show that love, most likely because he had never been taught the proper way for father and son to display their love. In his home life the women showed affection and the men simply had mutual respects. He and his father had shared handshakes, not hugs.

As Patrick dressed, he knew what he had to do. He would find his son and talk to him. He would explain himself, explain why it was so difficult for him to be the father Tim wanted, but that he still loved him just the same.

There was a knock at the door. "Enter."

Ensign Rowe was there with a tray. "Breakfast, Admiral."

Patrick gestured for him to put it down on the desk. "Thank you, Ensign."

"There was also this note for you," the Ensign said, pointing to an envelope propped against his plate of sausage.

"Who is it from?"

"I don't know, Admiral. It was there when I arrived."

Patrick raised an eyebrow, but didn't probe further. He dismissed the Ensign Rowe and sat down. He took a long gulp of his coffee before picking up the letter and opening it. As he read it, the coffee cup slipped from his grip and crashed onto the floor, spilling coffee everywhere. But Patrick paid no attention. He tucked the letter into his pocket and rushed out the door, not sure where to go first.

* * *

"Still no sign of McGee?" Gibbs asked when he, Tony, and Ziva reconvened in the Wardroom.

"Not since last night," Tony said before biting into a piece of toast.

"He may have been up late working on the encryption," Ziva suggested. "Perhaps he's asleep somewhere."

"Well, if he's not in the sick bay, I guess we should check the bathrooms, supply closets, and any other places ideal for a nice upchuck."

"Don't joke about that, Tony."

Abby had once again popped up on the laptop video feed, this time alone.

"Have you got something for me, Abbs?"

"Major Mass Spec does. He finally finished analyzing the contents of Petty Officer Collins'…um…regurgitation."

"And?"

"Well, aside from his last meal – meatloaf with potatoes, gravy, and peas if you're wondering –"

"I'm not."

"– there was also a lot of Alprazolam in his system."

"Define 'a lot.'"

"Let me put it this way: if Collins were an elephant he would have been fully sedated."

Tony glanced at Gibbs. "Petty Officer Simon did find a lot of painkillers under Collins' mattress."

"Alprazolam is for anxiety, though," Abby said. "And even if was taken intentionally, the dosage was way too high."

"He could have been taking it recreationally," Ziva said. "The overdose could have been a tragic accident."

"It still doesn't explain how he ended up with a knife in his back," Gibbs said. Though Ziva's suggestion of recreational drug use had gotten him thinking.

"Abby," he said, "could you get recent inventory lists and supply requests for the Stennis?"

"It'll take a little doing," she said. "But wouldn't it just be easier to ask McGee since he's already there? Where is he, anyway?"

"He's busy doing something else," Gibbs said vaguely. He didn't want Abby's worries about Tim to interfere with her work, especially when they didn't know if there was even anything to be worried about.

"Okay, I'll see what I can do." With that, Abby cut the feed.

"Got a hunch, boss?"

"We'll see. Now tell me again what McGee was saying last night?"

"He just thinks Collins' gambling habits could have contributed to his death. Maybe he owed the wrong person money and wasn't prepared to pay up. It's not like the guy could just report it to Forbes or something."

Ziva nodded slowly, her eyes upward as though deep in thought. "It is a possibility. But," she continued in Tim's absence, "it still does not explain Admiral McGee's fingerprints on the knife."

"Yeah," Tony said with a sigh, "that's a hard one to get around. McGee had better find something good or we won't have any other choice."

Before the discussion could continue, there was a knock at the door. "Must be McGee," Tony said as Ziva went to the door. "Maybe he finally woke up."

While the person on the other side of the door was a McGee, it wasn't Tim McGee standing there, but, rather, Patrick McGee, who looked like he hadn't slept a wink.

"Is there something we can help you with?" Gibbs asked, standing as Patrick entered and Ziva closed the door behind him.

"No, but I can help you," he said. His voice was shaking as he spoke, his cool, stoic demeanor slipping. "After sleeping through the night, I've realized that my conscience can't take it any more. I'm turning myself in."

"Turning yourself in?" Tony repeated. "You're saying that…"

"I did it," Patrick said. "I killed Petty Officer Collins."

* * *

Tim's head felt heavy, like it was a filled sandbag, trying to fall from his neck. When it did fall forward, though, it connected with something cold, hard, and, metal. The bang resounded in his ears, making his head throb.

He opened his eyes tentatively and found that he had to blink a few times to clear his blurry vision. It was like his head was covered with a veil. He wanted to reach up and rub at his eyes, but soon realized that was impossible, what with his hands being bound behind him. Calling out for help would be difficult too as someone had placed duct tape over his mouth.

Slowly he began to recall what he had been doing last. He had been in the sickbay, sitting at Collins' laptop and trying to decrypt the file he'd found. That's when everything became fuzzy. He remembered being grabbed from behind, but he hadn't seen a face.

Tim tried to move, to look around at where he was, but it was dark. As far as he could tell the space was only slightly taller than he was and not much wider. _So this is what it's like being shoved in a locker_, he thought, grateful to have escaped that during his high school years.

He leaned back and pressed himself back against the other side, trying to figure out which side was the opening. He noticed a small bit of light squeezing through a slit to his right, which likely meant it was the door. His ankles were bound, so he couldn't kick it, but he managed to elbow it, feeling it hit against the catch, refusing to open. A few more attempts met the same results.

There was no way of knowing what time it was or whether or not anyone had discovered that he was missing yet. The team would have to notice eventually; even if they assumed he was holed up, hunching over a toilet they were bound to realize something was wrong when it was time to leave.

And would his father notice? Or would be too busy avoiding him, pretending like he doesn't have a son? Or, even worse, would his father be shackled in handcuffs, being carted off for a murder he didn't commit? Because he hadn't killed Petty Officer Collins, Tim knew it, though he wasn't sure how he knew it.

He banged against the door again, this time hoping someone would hear it, someone who could help him. He knew it was a big ship, but someone was bound to find him. Gibbs would tear the ship apart before allowing one of his team members to be left behind.

The boat swayed slightly and that, combined with the suffocating heat, made Tim's stomach churn. He swallowed down the urge, recognizing how bad it would be for him to throw up now. But he wouldn't be able to keep his sickness at bay for long. He also had a feeling that whoever had shoved him in here wasn't just going to leave him to be found. He had to get out of this; time was of the essence.

* * *

The team sat in silence, obviously stunned by Patrick's admission.

Finally, Gibbs spoke. "You killed Collins," he repeated.

"That's right. I did it."

"So why didn't you tell us this when we arrived yesterday?"

"I told you, after sleeping on it I realized I couldn't live with myself."

"I see. So would you mind tell us exactly how it happened? For our records."

"Yes, I'll write out a full confession."

"That won't be necessary yet," Gibbs said, "just tell us what happened."

"Well…" Patrick trailed off and was silent for a few moments. "I was walking through the corridor after speaking with Captain Glenn and I saw Petty Officer Collins coming through. He was laughing about his prank."

"So he seemed upbeat and alert?"

"Yes, he did. And he was talking about how he had plans for more pranks, bigger ones. I got angry and so I stabbed him."

"Just like that," Gibbs said. "Just because he said he was going to pull more pranks?"

"I was angry," Patrick said. "I don't know what came over me."

"So you stabbed him right there?"

"Yes, right there. I dropped him to the ground and then Captain Glenn came around the corner. I pretended like I had just found Collins and told the Captain to call for Agent Forbes. But I did it, Agent Gibbs, and I'm willing to swear to it."

Once again the room fell into silence. Tony and Ziva both turned their eyes to Gibbs, but he was looking straight ahead, in a staring contest with Patrick.

"You're lying."

"What?"

"You're lying. You didn't kill anyone."

"Yes, I did," Patrick said vehemently. "I just told you-"

"If you had run into Petty Officer Collins that night, you would have found him disoriented and barely able to walk, based on the amount of medication in his system and the fact that he vomited not long before being killed, _and_," he continued as Patrick opened his mouth to interrupt, "Collins was stabbed around the corner from where the body was found."

"Agent Gibbs-"

"Who are you trying to protect, Admiral?"

"I'm not trying to-"

"Who?" Gibbs asked again, this time bellowing the question.

Patrick said nothing for a minute. By the look on his face, it was obvious he was struggling inside, arguing between two conflicting opinions of what to say next. "Timothy," he said finally.

"McGee?" Tony said. "I don't think he was ever a suspect, Admiral."

"No, that's not what I mean." He reached into his back pocked and pulled out the letter. "This was delivered to me with my breakfast this morning," he said, handing it to Gibbs who opened it. Tony and Ziva peered over his shoulder to read it as well:

_Admiral, we have your son. You will not find him, so don't even bother looking. You have until 1200 to confess to Agent Gibbs that you killed Petty Officer Collins and convince him and his team to leave with you in custody. Once you have done so, your son will be released unharmed. Failure to do so will result in his death. It's your choice._

"Who delivered it?"

"Ensign Gregory Rowe. He delivers all my meals. Said it was there when he arrived."

"I'd like to speak to him."

"I'll have him come here."

"Do you recognize the handwriting, Admiral?" Ziva asked.

"I see many handwritings pass across my desk, Agent David. Unfortunately, I've no memory for them. It's possible I've seen it before, but I wouldn't be able to put a name to it."

"We'll start up a search team," Tony said.

But Patrick shook his head. "It's too large a ship. We don't have enough time, if this person plans to hold true to their threat."

"Well, it's better than just sitting here, Admiral. Ziva and I can start looking. It's hard to ask for help since pretty much everyone's a suspect, but maybe we can recruit some of the people we've ruled out?"

"No one's ruled out," Gibbs said.

"Some of them have alibis," Ziva said.

"It doesn't mean they aren't still involved."

He turned to Patrick. "Get your Ensign Rowe in here. He may have seen more than he thinks. You two," he said to Tony and Ziva, "start a search of the ship. Don't tell anyone what you're doing. We don't want them moving McGee from where they have him." He didn't even mention the possibility of them killing him.

"Probie has definitely lost weight," Tony said, "but do you think they could hide someone that tall out of sight?"

"There are many places hiding places aboard the ship, Agent DiNozzo," Patrick said.

Gibbs nodded. "Start with places that might otherwise be closed off to others. Don't assume anything is too small."

No one moved for a few seconds, as though frightened of what they would find in their search. Finally, Gibbs said, "Go!" and they scurried off to their given tasks.


	8. Chapter 8

"As I told the Admiral, the note was waiting there when I arrived, sir." Ensign Rowe was sitting before Gibbs with Patrick standing behind them. The young man gave no indication that he was uncomfortable with being interrogated, though there was a look of concern. "What was in the note?"

"That's need to know," Gibbs said. He had already discounted Rowe as a suspect, but wasn't sure it was the best idea to disclose too much information on their current situation.

"If that's all, sir, may I go?"

Gibbs nodded. "Go on, Ensign."

"Rowe isn't involved," Patrick said once the man had left. "I would stake my life on that."

"I agree, he doesn't know anything." It frustrated Gibbs to say that. It meant they weren't any closer to finding Tim and time was of the essence.

"Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs!"

Abby had popped up once again on the computer screen, jumping up and down enthusiastically. "I got it, Gibbs!"

When Patrick leaned forward, Abby did a small double-take. "Wow…you've got to be Admiral McGee. It's like looking at Tim in twenty years!"

Patrick managed a small smile. "You must be Abby." He'd heard Margaret mention Tim's short romance with a Goth girl at NCIS.

"Abbs, what have you got?" Gibbs asked, now that introductions were over.

"Well, I checked the supply and inventory lists of the Stennis. Uh, legally, of course, Admiral."

"I'm sure." He wasn't concerned with possible hacking of their systems by some forensic scientist at the moment (though he made a mental note to upgrade their systems to prevent it in the future).

"Well, since we'd been discussing the drugs I'd found in Collins' system, I figured that's what you'd want me to be paying attention to."

"And?" Gibbs asked with an air of impatience.

"There seems to be an anomaly. I've noticed that the supply request has them bringing in far more drugs than they are reporting on their inventory lists. I mean, if you guys are using this much Adderall, OxyContin, and Vicodin every month, something is wrong."

"Abbs, can you send me the-"

"Already in your in-box. That's the little mailbox thing where the e-mail goes," she added cheekily.

Gibbs grinned. "I owe you a Caf-Pow."

"I'll put it on your tab."

"What are you thinking, Agent Gibbs?" Patrick asked once the screen had gone blank.

"Petty Officer Simon found a large amount of painkillers under Collins' bed," Gibbs said. "And he was seen returning to sick bay multiple times over the following weeks, even once he had been put back on duty."

"Why wasn't I told this?" Patrick asked. If a Petty Officer was lying about his abilities to return to his work the Admiral should have been informed immediately.

But Gibbs paid no attention to the question. "We know he was in debt for his gambling – another thing you might want to look into, Admiral – and we have reason to believe he was also playing the stock market. One of your men said, though, that Collins' seemed to be coming into a lot of money recently."

"So what are you saying?"

Gibbs pulled up the e-mail with Abby's findings and looked down the recent supply request lists. A few of the drug requests seemed high, even for an aircraft carrier full of sailors. The ones that stood out were familiar to him. "Do you know the street value for some of this stuff?"

"I'm a Navy Admiral, sir, not a drugs expert."

"Trust me, there are people willing to pay a lot for it," Gibbs said. "We thought Collins' might have been using those drugs recreationally, but I think it's the opposite; he was selling them."

"Selling them? To whom? And then who killed him?"

"My guess is whoever he was working with."

"What makes you think he was working with anyone?"

"Unless he has authority to write out and sign-off on supply lists for the sick bay, he had someone working on the inside, someone making the purchases and fudging the paper work so they didn't arouse suspicion."

"Well, Lieutenant Doyle is the one who sends out requests for sick bay…" Patrick trailed off as he realized what that meant.

Gibbs grabbed the notes from their interviews. "Lieutenant Doyle says she was with a patient when Collins was killed. Chief Warrant Officer Lana Neiman, who was admitted ten minutes earlier with complaints of stomach cramps. Neiman confirmed that when we spoke with her."

"So Lieutenant Doyle couldn't have killed Collins, right?"

"Or maybe she wasn't working alone." Gibbs stood. "Only one way to find out. Where is the Lieutenant now?"

"She should be in the sick bay."

Gibbs felt his gut churn. "Exactly where McGee was the last time anyone saw him."

* * *

"Probie…come out, come out wherever you are…"

"I do not think that is going to help," Ziva muttered as she jimmied open a locked door. All she found inside was a small closet full of various gear parts. No sign of Tim.

"So who do you think did it?" he asked. "What are your Mossad Ninja senses telling you?"

"That we are overlooking something."

"Like what?"

"If I knew I would tell you."

"Okay, then why do you think this guy targeted McGee?"

"Any number of reasons. McGee is investigating the murder. Perhaps he was getting too close to something. Or maybe he was the best bargaining chip they had. He is, after all, the son of the ship's Admiral."

"He's also a Federal Agent whose team is stationed aboard the ship. They had to have known we wouldn't leave without him."

"Maybe they did not think that far ahead," Ziva said. "Or maybe they did not intend for him to leave one way or another." It wasn't something she liked to think about.

Tony leaned back against a wall and checked his watch. "Well, we don't have much time. This ship could take days to search, and even then I'm sure there are places we don't even know about."

Ziva had to agree; the task of finding Tim on a ship of this size was like finding a pin in a needle stack. They hadn't even put in a dent. "Well, we can rule out the general areas where people are likely to go. I'm sure how abductor would not want someone to stumble upon him. We need to think about storage areas."

Before they could ponder that further, Tony's phone rang. "Yeah," he said when he answered it. He was silent for a few moments before replying, "On it."

"What is it?"

"Gibbs wants us to check out the sick bay Lieutenant."

"Lieutenant Doyle?"

Tony nodded.

"Did he say why?"

"No, but it makes sense. The last time I saw McGee he was sitting in there."

"Do you think she has something to do with his disappearance?"

"That, or Gibbs thinks she saw something."

* * *

Wherever he was, it was hot and stuffy, especially as Tim squirmed, trying to release himself from his bindings. The ropes were tight, though, and all he succeeded in doing was chaffing the skin around his wrists. It was starting to bleed in some areas

What would Gibbs do if he were in this position?

_A knife_! Rule nine chimed in his head like bells in a church steeple. He knew he had a knife tucked away in a side holster, right between his hip and the waistband of his pants. Had his attacker confiscated it? There was only one way to find out.

It took a few minutes to even come close to reaching it. Tim twisted and contorted his body every which way, trying to hook his fingers into the waistband at his hip. His joints ached from the discomfort of having been forced in this small compartment and this struggle wasn't helping. His arms felt like they would pop from the shoulder socket as he tried again, but he bit back the pain. Finally, he succeeded in grabbing hold of the fabric and dug his fingers down into the waistband. It didn't take long to brush against the familiar outline of his knife. He let out a small whimper of relief.

Pulling out the knife, Tim began the uncomfortable and dangerous task of trying to slice through the binds. One wrong move and he could end up slitting his own wrists or dropping the knife. With some awkward moments he pulled the blade out, careful not to cut his finger.

With nothing else to do, Tim began slicing.

* * *

"I'm not sure what you're implying, Agent Gibbs."

Lieutenant Jane Doyle was sitting across from Gibbs with Tony and Ziva standing on either side of her. Patrick stood off to the side, having watched carefully as Gibbs laid out the evidence before her.

"I'm not implying anything," he said. "I'm saying outright that you and Petty Officer Collins were part of a scheme to make money by selling Navy-ordered drugs for recreational use."

"Because I made a mistake on some paperwork?"

"You've made this 'mistake' five times so far."

Jane's mouth twisted into a frown, but she didn't reply.

"And let's not forget what we found in Collins' system," he added, bringing up Abby's toxicology reports. "Enough Alprazolam to bring down a horse. I can't imagine that was taken voluntarily."

"I'm not the only one who works in sick bay. Other people have access to those drugs."

"So what happened between you two that made you want to kill him?" Gibbs asked. "Was he asking for too much money? Trying to cut into your share?"

"I was nowhere near Collins' when he was stabbed. I was in sick bay with a patient."

Gibbs ignored her comments. "Agent McGee was last seen in sick bay last night. Now he's missing. We believe he is being held somewhere against his will."

"Now you're really reaching. Do you really think I could move a man of his size that easily? I'd have to drag him, and I'm sure that would be notice on this ship."

"So you got your accomplice to help you."

Jane let out a derisive laugh. "And now I have an accomplice. Please tell me what evidence you have to back this theory?"

"A nice and tidy file left by Collins."

This time it wasn't Gibbs responding; it was Abby who had once again popped up on the screen. No one had been expecting that.

"What's that, Abbs?"

"A little gift McGee sent to me last night. It was an encrypted file he needed me to keep on hand for security. I got so involved in getting the inventory and supply lists that I kind of forgot about checking my e-mail until now. Anyway, it's a personal confession from Collins. I guess he was starting to suspect they would off him. Knowing there would be an investigation, he left this behind to help us along."

"Why encrypt it, then?" Tony asked.

"Probably to make sure his killers didn't find it and erase it. He was banking on someone from our side to find and decrypt it. But I figured McGee would have told you all of this by now. Where is he anyway?"

None of them answered. All eyes were on Jane whose cool façade was beginning to crumble. Her mouth was pressed into a tight-lipped frown and her eyes were darting back and forth between Gibbs, Patrick, and Abby on the screen.

"Tell us where he is and I may cut you a deal," Gibbs said.

She immediately defaulted to a defensive stance. "It wasn't my idea! It was all his idea! I didn't have a choice!"

But Gibbs wasn't hearing any of it. He had no interest in hearing her excuse, especially not when time was running out for Tim. "Tell me where he is!" he growled, slapping a hand against the table to stop her rambling.

"And you'll get me a deal?" she asked in a soft tone.

"Maybe."

"Maybe" was better than nothing. With no other option, Jane sighed. "Damage Control Supply Locker. Fifth deck."

Tony and Ziva were already out the door with Patrick close behind. Gibbs lingered only momentarily. He turned to Jane and quickly handcuffed her "If he's dead, you get nothing." Then he pulled her to a standing position and pulled her out the door

As he ran out with Jane in tow, he heard Abby calling behind him with worry. "Gibbs! If _who_ is dead?"

* * *

Tim let out a muffled groan as the blade nicked his skin again. He had a feeling his hands were beginning to look like some sort of crude Jackson Pollock piece. Thankfully, his pain wasn't all for nothing. The ropes were beginning to wear and loosen. Freedom was only a little bit away.

Finally, Tim felt the ropes slip away. He brought his hands around, rolling his wrists around and wiggling his fingers to make circulation return to them. The skin was chaffed and raw. Small cuts decorated his hands and lower arms, but the cuts were shallow.

He reached up and painfully pulled the tape away from his mouth, taking in a deep breath of the hot, musty air. Then he forced himself into an awkward squat as he went to work on the ropes at his ankles. Once those were released he only had one obstacle standing in his way.

Tim felt around at the door, but found no way to open it from within. He banged against it, throwing as much weight as he could into the door, but it didn't budge. He grabbed the knife and tried to cut through the metal, but found that to be just as ineffective.

Then, as he sat there scratching at the door, Tim heard the soft sound of clicking…like a combination being put into a dial lock. But was this person friend or foe? He decided to brace himself just in case.

When the door opened, Tim was momentarily blinded by the flood of light. Then he saw Agent Forbes standing before him, looking dumbstruck.

"Agent Forbes," he said, breathing out in relief. "I-"

Tim barely had time to react as Forbes grabbed his gun. A cold rush came over him as he realized Forbes was definitely a foe. Tim dove at him, grabbing the gun and pushing it up and away from him. The two men crashed to the floor, grappling to take charge of the weapon.

"You were supposed to be unconscious," Forbes grunted as he tried to push Tim off.

"You were supposed to be one of the good guys," he countered, shoving his knees down into Forbes' gut. His head still felt woozy, but he didn't stop. If he stopped he was as good as dead.

Slowly, Forbes began to get the upper hand. Tim saw the barrel of the gun tilt toward him. He felt himself losing his grip. In one last ditch effort, Tim placed a hand on Forbes' forehead and pushed it down hard. When Forbes' head knocked against the ground, the gun went off, the bullet whizzing slightly to the left of Tim. With his attacker dazed, Tim managed the wrestle the gun from his hand and stand, panting and shaking.

"Drop it!"

Tim didn't follow the command, but, rather peeked behind him. Ziva stood in the doorway, her own weapon drawn and aimed. Upon seeing it was him, she lowered it just as Tony came into view behind her. "McGee? Are you all right?"

He nodded silently, gesturing to where Forbes lay, still dazed. He couldn't quite get the words out.

"Nice job, Probie." Tony clapped him on the shoulder before helping Ziva to shackle Forbes.

Tim leaned back against the wall, panting, feeling as though if he didn't have that wall there he would surely faint to the floor. Every fiber of his being ached and trembled inside of him.

"Timothy?"

There was a hand on his shoulder, helping him to a standing position. Soon he was looking into the face of his father, wrought with concern. Those eyes—eyes so like his own—were filled with relief as he looked over his son.

"I'm fine," Tim said wanly. "Sorry if I made you worry."

Then Patrick McGee did something that took Tim by surprise. He pulled Tim into a hug, holding him close as he patted his back. "You don't need to apologize for anything, son. I'm just glad to know you're safe."

When he pulled back, Tim saw the unmistakable tears just on the edge of his eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

"So Doyle and Forbes had a get-rich-quick scheme going," said Tony later when the team was sitting in Patrick's private office. Vance was on a live feed and they were giving him the full story. "Doyle would over order on some drugs, fudge the paperwork, and Forbes would look the other way. Then, when the Stennis re-docked, they would sell the stuff on the street and make cash on the side. When Collins was treated for his twisted knee he over heard them talking about it. But instead of turning them in, he decided to get involved."

"He had the idea of reaching people while they were still at sea," Ziva continued. "He set up a system of getting the drugs to friends at other stations by hiding them inside the aircrafts before they departed. He even came up with a way for them to place orders under the guise of making racing bets. The amount being bet would dictate the order amount, the horse number would dictate which drug they were ordering, and the horse track would dictate where the drugs were to be sent."

"Unfortunately, Collins wasn't good with money," Gibbs said. "He gambled some of his share away in poker games with some of the other guys and he even sent some to his cousin on Wall Street to play the stock market. He was spending it quicker than he was making it and he started to have debts. So he tried to blackmail Forbes and Doyle into giving him a bigger cut of the profits. Threatened to turn them in."

"But if he had turned them in he also would have been in trouble," Vance said.

"He must have thought they wouldn't call his bluff," Tony said. "Maybe they had more to lose than he did. It was easier to tie them to this than it was to tie him to it."

"Well, they didn't call his bluff," said Vance, "but they also didn't give in."

"Doyle doused his breakfast with the Alprazolam," said Gibbs, "hoping to make him dazed enough that he would be easy to over power. Then Forbes did the rest. It wasn't hard to plant Admiral McGee's fingerprints on the weapon; Forbes had the crime scene all to himself until we arrived. He knew the Admiral had blown up at Collins' over his prank. The fact that he was the one to stumble upon Collins' body was just good luck for Forbes. We probably would have taken Admiral McGee in if it hadn't been for the file McGee found on Collins' computer."

"He explained the entire thing," Tim said, speaking up for the first time. His hands were bandaged and he was a tired, but otherwise healthy. "He decided to leave it as insurance, just in case Doyle and Forbes got violent. Good thing he did; the info we've got will make for a solid case against them."

"And the contacts who were ordering the drugs?"

"We've got their names from Collins' computer. There were about a dozen men who were placing orders."

"Should be open and shut," Vance said with a little nod. "I guess you'll be returning?"

"Weather's choppy," Gibbs said, "so we'll fly out tomorrow."

"Is that fine with you, Admiral?"

"I'm happy to host them here as long as they need," Patrick said, giving Tim a conspicuous pat on the back. "I'm just glad to have this case closed."

Vance let a small smile play across his lips. "Well, I'll plan to see you tomorrow. Come in and file your reports, then go home for an early weekend and get some rest. Especially you, Agent McGee."

* * *

Patrick asked Tim to eat with him again that evening and he agreed, though still uncertain. No doubt they would talk about the previous evening and about that afternoon.

"How are you feeling?" Patrick asked once Tim had seated himself.

"Fine, I guess."

"You guess?"

"Well, Ensign Boudreaux gave me something to dull the pain in my hands, so I'm a little numb. Other than that, I'm just…exhausted."

"If you'd rather skip dinner and get some sleep I'd understand."

Tim almost took him up on the offer, but decided against it at the last minute. They needed to see this thing through. "No, dad, that's okay. I should probably eat something."

Patrick gestured to the plate. "Then, by all means, dig in."

Tim did so, though cautiously. He kept his father in his peripheral vision as he slowly ate, aware that his father was only picking at the food, as though waiting for him to finish.

"Is there something you wanted to talk about?"

"It can wait until you're finished."

"We may as well get it out now," Tim said. "We've been dodging it for seven years too long as it is." He thought he saw the slightest trace of a smile from his father.

"About our talk last night."

"I'm sorry for getting so angry," Tim said, glad Gibbs wasn't there to chide him for apologizing. "I was just frustrated."

But Patrick shook his head. "Timothy, you don't owe me an apology. I know that I'm not the easiest man in the world to get along with. I probably deserved those words you gave me last night. To be quite honest it took me by surprise; I don't think I've ever seen you rave that way."

"I had a lot on my mind."

"From the sound of it you've had it on your mind for quite some time."

"A few years," Tim admitted.

"So why didn't you ever tell me?"

"I was scared. You're my dad, and you're not the easiest person to talk to as it is. I didn't want to hurt our relationship. But," he added sadly, "I guess that was wishful thinking on my part."

"You were wrong, you know."

"About not telling you?"

"No, about what you said last night. About being an embarrassment and a disappointment. I've never been embarrassed or disappointed in you. Never."

"So then why didn't you tell anyone about me?"

Patrick shrugged. "I've found that it's often a good idea to keep ones personal and professional lives separated. And, I suppose, it hurt too much. Every time I mentioned you, I'd think about the fact that…well, that I had ruined things."

"Ruined things?"

"I know it was my fault, Timothy. I was so focused on what I wanted for you that I never took the time to ask what you wanted. I'm sorry for that."

It was what Tim had wanted to hear for so long. Yet, he found that it didn't fill him with satisfaction so much as it did discomfort. "Well…you know…I guess I could have been a little more understanding too," he said.

"It's hard to be understanding when talking to a brick wall," Patrick said. "I'm sure I bore a strong resemblance to one at that time."

"A bit," Tim admitted feebly.

This time Patrick did smile, his eyes softening. "I just wanted to let you know that I truly am proud to have you as my son. Even if I'm terrible at showing it, even if I can be a pig-headed idiot now and then, I will never consider you a disappointment. You and Sarah are my greatest achievements, bar none."

Tim could feel his cheeks flush. It was the most wonderful compliment his father had ever given him.

"Besides, I think you and your team have more than proven your worth and abilities these past couple of days. As far as I'm concerned, NCIS is lucky to have you."

"Thanks, dad" Tim said. "The Navy's pretty lucky to have you too… and that they avoided having me," he added jokingly. "I have a feeling my sickness would have gotten in the way with my work."

Even Patrick had to laugh at that.

With the air between them finally clear, they enjoyed their dinner before Tim headed off to bed, the first proper nights sleep he'd had since he first set foot on the ship.

The next morning Patrick came to see them off. He exchanged handshakes with Gibbs, Tony, and Ziva, thanking them for their work. Before Tim stepped into the plane, Patrick took him aside and pulled him into a hug. "I love you, son," he said.

"I love you too."

"Take care of yourself. Feel free to write."

"I will," Tim promised.

"I'll let you know when I get back home. I'm sure your mother would appreciate a visit."

"Yeah," he said with a small smile, "I'd like that too."

When the plane took off, Tim took one last look back toward the Stennis, to where his father was standing, watching him leave. Despite the rough ride home, Tim's gut was finally at rest.

* * *

**AN:** And that's the end of the story! Thanks for reading!


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